


base of the recipe

by patrokla



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, pre-fame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrokla/pseuds/patrokla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who could resist Pete Doherty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	base of the recipe

**Author's Note:**

> This is some absolute nonsense mixed with baseless speculation. Carl probably taught Pete songs instead of chords. This is just how I learned, so.

Carl shows him five chords, the first time he gives in to Pete’s demands to ‘teach him to play, _please_ , Carlos, I’ll never ask you for anything again.’  
  
Admittedly, Carl doesn’t need much convincing. Who could resist Pete Doherty, 18 years old and looking at him like he set the stars in the sky? Yet still bold enough to treat Carl like an equal and a confidante? It's an intoxicating, irresistible mixture.  
  
So he sat down with Pete on the raggedy sofa he and Amy-Jo had picked off the curb, and showed him A, C, D, E, and E minor. Pete played them again and again, far past the point of tingling fingers and into pain.  
  
‘I’ll have calluses soon enough, if I keep this up,’ he said, impressed at the future possibilities. ‘How long did it take you?’  
  
Pete dropped his left hand from the guitar neck, grabbing at Carl’s hand quite suddenly.  
  
‘How long did it take what?’ Carl asked, startled by the warmth of Pete’s fingers that rubbed against his shamelessly.  
  
‘Your calluses, Car _los_ ,’ Pete said, drawing out the last syllable annoyingly. ‘How long did you play before you got them?’  
  
He ran his fingers over the tips of Carl’s, thumbing at the imperceptible divide where soft skin became smooth and tough.  
  
‘Oh, erm,’ Carl said, still staring at their hands. ‘Um. Maybe a few months, once I started playing every day?’  
  
He yanked his hand away from Pete’s, feeling his cheeks flush for no good reason.  
  
‘You’ll never get them if you don’t keep up the playing,’ he said, nudging the guitar with his knee pointedly.  
  
Pete obediently began playing through the chords again, but Carl swore for the rest of the afternoon he could still feel those fingers on his.


End file.
